PRINCE IN EXILE (32 page)

From behind her, the guru said softly, ‘Good Kausalya, gentle Sumitra, brace yourselves. I fear our beloved Dasaratha has run his course. He is alive yet, but his time with us has been reduced considerably by the trauma of this night’s events. Even our great Aja-putra’s mighty heart will not recover from this final betrayal. I am sorry to say that Maharaja Dasaratha will leave us before the sun sets tonight.’ 

FOUR 

Rama and Sita were almost at the rear gate when the shouting broke out. In her anguished state of mind, it took Sita a moment to connect the outbreak with herself. It was taking all her energy simply to keep placing one foot before the other. 

But when Rama paused and glanced around, keeping his head low and covered by the cowl of his shawl, she realised that something was happening in the city. Something that must be connected to their plight, for surely there were no coincidences today. 

She glanced back at the rear wall of the palace complex, where they had just exited a servants’ entrance. There was nothing amiss here. The shouting was on the far side, at the front entrance of Suryavansha Mahal. It seemed hard to believe that only hours earlier she had entered through that grand portal as an honoured new bride and future queen of the dynasty. And barely before the night was fully ended and dawn’s first flush on the horizon, here she was skulking out the rear way like a common thief. Her tightly fitting garments chafed at her skin as she turned, though she hardly noticed. 

At Rama’s urging, both had exchanged their rich royal silks for simple roughcloth garments, secured for them by a visibly suspicious Nakhudi. The rani-rakshak had looked even more suspicious when Sita had invented a story about their having to travel incognito to avoid being recognised. When the bodyguard pressed her mistress for details of their destination, Sita had spun an impromptu yarn about Rama and she wishing to visit the shrine of Vishnu-Lakshmi, the Divine Preserver and his consort, without the whole palace and the city entire getting wind of it. 

At that, Nakhudi had nodded and relaxed visibly. It was considered highly auspicious for a newly married couple to visit that particular shrine the morning after first consummating their new union. And as a hard-bitten northern tribeswoman, Nakhudi didn’t truly approve of the brouhaha these Ayodhyans made over their liege. Among her folk, a king was merely a clan-chief, to be treated like any other Kshatriya, no better, no less. The display of luxury and sheer glamour the night before had far surpassed the surly Jat’s sense of what constituted decent behaviour. 

She approved of their quiet assignation and fetched the garments from her own quarters in a trice. Back in Mithila, Sita and she had often moved about the common-folk incognito, and these garments were intended for Sita. Fortunately, Rama’s waist was scarcely wider than Sita’s slender dimensions, and the dhotis fitted both of them equally well. To disguise their faces, Nakhudi had fetched them shawls, a mite unseasonal since the weather had begun turning warm early this spring, but not unusual. So here they were now, sneaking out the rear entrance with their faces and heads covered by the thick woollen shawls. 

Rama took a moment to assess the situation before turning to speak quietly to Sita. ‘The palace guards are quarrelling amongst themselves for some reason. We should move quickly before Drishti Kumar gives the order to shut the gates.’ 

Sita nodded, and they moved across the enormous concourse, heading for the rear gates, which were still a good three or four hundred yards away. They had to pass the royal stables to get there, and the overwhelming odour of horse, elephant and donkey assailed them as they walked briskly. They were passing a horse stall when the beast within, a beautiful white battlehorse with a deep scar across his forehead, raised his head and whinnied loud and long. Several other horses responded in like voice, and even the elephants joined the fray. 

Beside her, she heard Rama catch his breath. ‘They recognise me. Keep walking.’ 

She did, thinking as she went of her own favourite horses and elephants back in Mithila. They were to be brought here in a few days, following the usual three-day route rather than the magical half-day journey that Guru Vashishta’s Brahman shakti had made possible. She wondered what would become of them now that she would no longer be here to receive them. Who would ride them? Or would anyone ride them at all? Would they spend the rest of their lives in stables, emerging only to be exercised occasionally by some ostler? When she returned, how many would still be alive? How many would die of old age before that? And even when she did return, would they still recognise her scent, as these animals did Rama’s, and neigh and stamp their feet and trumpet loudly to show their recognition? Or would she be a stranger to them after such a long absence? 

She stumbled and fell against Rama. He caught her arm. ‘Are you all right?’ 

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. 

He looked at her closely, trying to see beneath the shawl’s cowl. After a moment he turned and they resumed walking. An ostler emerged from a barn-like structure up ahead, a pitchfork bristling with hay held over his shoulder. He peered down the length of the stalls, then at Rama and Sita with obvious hostility. 

‘How many times have I told you low-castes not to throw stones at the horses? They may look like dumb animals to you, but they have feelings too, you know. How would you like it if someone came to your window and threw stones inside at you and your family, hey?’ 

They reached him and continued walking past. He blinked, offended, and came after them. Beneath his breath, Rama said to Sita, ‘Keep walking.’ She did. 

The ostler caught up with them and took hold of Sita’s shoulder. She guessed that beneath the shawls it was impossible for the man to tell which of them was male and which female. She shrugged off his grip. He swore and caught her shoulder again, this time too hard for her to wrench free. She tried, but nearly wrenched her shoulder socket out of joint. The ostler pulled hard with the brute strength of a man whose livelihood depended on handling strong animals every day of his life. Sita swung around, the shawl falling from her face. 

The ostler stared at her in amazement. ‘What is this? Some kind of joke? Who are you, and what’s your business going through here, dressed like chamars? You’re no chamar, lady. I know you. You’re … ‘ 

He squinted, trying to place Sita’s face. 

Rama pushed his shawl back on his head, just enough to show his face to the man. ‘This is Rajkumari Sita Janaki, Sameer. My new bride. We threw no pebbles at your horses. They smelled me and recognised me. Sadly, I have no time to stop and return their greetings.’ 

The ostler dropped his pitchfork and fell to his knees, prostrating himself before Rama. ‘My prince! I had no idea! If I had known—’ 

Rama caught him by the shoulders before he could kiss his feet, and helped him up. ‘No apologies required, Sameer. It was an honest mistake. You’re right about the janitors throwing pebbles at the horses. I’ve seen them do it. At the elephants too.’ 

Sameer wiped tears from his eyes at the thought of having insulted his prince and princess. He bowed before Sita. ‘My princess, forgive me.’ 

‘It is nothing,’ she said, although her shoulder felt as if it had been wrenched by a rope tied to a logging elephant. 

The ostler accepted her reply with an expression of undying gratitude. Sita understood the poor fellow’s plight: in less tolerant kingdoms, he would have been flayed alive or quartered by elephants for speaking thus to his prince and for laying hands on her. 

‘My prince, why are you dressed like this?’ the ostler asked, taking in their garments. ‘And where do you go at this hour on foot? Would you not like to take a chariot? Or at least two horses? I have a fine mare for Rajkumari Sita. And for you, Rajkumar—’ 

The shouting from the far side of the palace had grown louder all this while. Now it was joined by the unmistakable sound of weapons clashing. Sita flinched at the sound of steel striking steel, so cruel and remorseless even at this distance. Rama spoke quickly and urgently to the ostler. 

‘We have no need of mounts or chariot, thank you for asking. The rajkumari and I must leave the rear gates at once on a most urgent matter. One more thing. It would be best if you do not tell anyone of our passing at least for some hours.’ 

‘Not even me?’ 

They all turned in surprise at the voice. Lakshman was approaching from the other side of the palace complex, which explained why they hadn’t seen him. He was barechested, clad only in a gold-embroidered silk dhoti. His rig was slung on his back, and in one hand he had his bow and in the other two swords. 

Lakshman’s face was dark with an emotion Sita couldn’t identify. There was anger there. But there was disbelief as well. And pain, a great deal of it. It was all directed at Rama. 

Lakshman moved one sword to the hand holding the bow and held the other out to Rama as he came abreast of them. ‘You forgot your sword, bhai. I found it in your chambers.’ 

Rama made no move to take the weapon. ‘I am not permitted to take it with me, brother.’ 

‘And what about me? Were you not permitted to tell me as well before you left? You were going to leave without even a word?’ 

Rama sighed. ‘Luck, I was ordered not to say any farewells. To leave without speaking to a single person.’ 

Lakshman glanced at Sita. ‘Even my bhabhi?’ He used the colloquial word for sister-in-law. 

Rama nodded. ‘I had to go back to change my garb, for those were my given orders. So I had to tell her. She insisted on coming with me. But to come to your chambers and speak with you would have amounted to disobedience of my orders.’ 

Lakshman was silent as if weighing this in his mind. 

Rama gestured in the direction from which the sounds of fighting still sounded. It had now progressed to men crying with agony and horses screaming. ‘What’s happening?’ 

Lakshman pursed his lips as if reluctant to answer. ‘The Kaikeya guard has been given command of the palace complex. The new First Queen has demanded a complete reshuffling of the command chain. The old guard aren’t taking it very well. Some disagreements broke out. There’s no doubt about who’s going to come out on top. The Kaikeya guard are barely a few thousand strong.’ 

The sound of a conch shell sounding rose on the still early-morning air, wafting across the city. It issued a brief burst, followed by two long blows. It was answered by conches farther away, in like style, a succession that receded into the distance. Rama and Lakshman exchanged a worried glance. 

‘The army is being called out,’ Rama said shortly. ‘That’s the signal for a palace riot.’ 

A palace riot? In Ayodhya?
Sita glanced at the face of the ostler, who was still standing with them. The man looked flummoxed. ‘Rajkumars, what is happening? Why—’ 

Before he could finish the sentence, the sound of pounding hoofs came from the far side of the palace, the direction that Lakshman had come from. A moment later, four quads of armed men clad in the traditional uniform of the palace guard, sixteen in all, rode into sight, heading directly for them. 

Lakshman glanced back at them. ‘I told them to follow me as soon as possible. And to get word to Pradhan-mantri Sumantra and Senapati Dheeraj Kumar.’ 

Rama frowned. ‘Luck, what are you up to?’ 

Instead of answering, Lakshman looked at Sita. ‘Janaki. My sister. Would you have my brother abdicate his throne and his birthright at the merest command of a woman—’ 

Rama broke in mid-way, speaking over Lakshman’s words. ‘Lakshman, this matter is not open for discussion.’ 

Lakshman continued as if Rama hadn’t even spoken. 

‘A woman acting under the influence of our greatest enemy himself?’ 

Sita stared at him. ‘What?’ 

‘Yes. Did you know that, sister? The green witch Manthara has been found out! She admits freely to her connivance with the Lord of Lanka in this plot to destroy our people. What Ravana could not accomplish by direct warfare, he tries now to do by stealth and deception.’ Lakshman gestured at Rama as the horsemen rode up and reined in their mounts. One of them dismounted and came up to take Lakshman’s weapons from his hand at his gesture. Sita saw with no surprise that the man was none other than Senapati Dheeraj Kumar himself. ‘My brother is a paragon of dharma,’ Lakshman continued. ‘He wishes to carry out our father’s wishes. If that were all he were doing, I would gladly let him go. But there is more to this whole plot than meets the eye. Manthara was using her dark shakti, asurashakti, to control Rani Kaikeyi. Even Guru Vashishta says so himself. I have just come from speaking with them after they left the kosaghar, where they found our father in a near-death state. And they say—’ 

Rama’s face flinched at the mention of his father. Lakshman paused briefly, then went on, ‘And even as we speak here, Kausalya-maa and my mother have gone to the sabha hall, where Kaikeyi is trying to push through the council’s formal approval of Bharat’s ascension. 

‘Lakshman,’ Rama said sternly. 

Lakshman raised his voice. ‘Rama has but to stand up and claim his right, and I swear, every Ayodhyan, nay, every Kosalan will support him to the bitter end. Our father wished for Rama to be prince-heir, and to be king after him. Rama, not Bharat!’ 

‘Lakshman!’ Rama put a hand on Lakshman’s arm.